


Betrayals, Bastards, and Birthing Beds

by DKNC



Series: Would That You Were Mine [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, altered pre-canon events
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-28
Updated: 2014-07-28
Packaged: 2018-02-10 18:04:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2034786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DKNC/pseuds/DKNC
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is the third installment of the "Would That You Were Mine" series.</p><p>Brandon Stark arrives home moments after Ned learns the truth of Arya's parentage, and he has some fairly shocking news of his own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Betrayals, Bastards, and Birthing Beds

Ned Stark had walked to Winterfell’s courtyard to greet his brother on leaden feet. Jon had tugged impatiently at his hand, wanting desperately to catch up to his cousin Robb, and had finally let go of Ned’s fingers and sprinted ahead. Without the boy’s encouragement, Ned found himself moving even more slowly, and by the time he reached the courtyard, Catelyn already stood among the gathering household staff in spite of having carried Arya and having to pull Sansa along from the nursery.

 _Arya._ Ned still found it difficult to breathe at even the thought of his daughter’s name. _She cannot be my daughter. She must be my niece. She will be Brandon’s and never mine._ He thought of Jon--his nephew who would forever be his son--and wondered if it were somehow the gods’ attempt at justice to make his daughter now be forever his niece. He shared the one secret with Brandon and the other with Cat and had no right to share anything with either of them.

Catelyn stood very straight in spite of the dual burdens of her rounded belly and small child perched on her hip. She faced the gate where Brandon and his party now entered on horseback with her head held high. Ned knew she had been as affected by the enormity of their shared secret as he was. He had felt it when she touched his hand. If she could stand here and face the man who was her husband, then he could stand and face the man who was his brother. He owed her that much strength at least.

He saw his brother recognize him as he walked to stand beside Jon who bounced up and down beside an even bouncier Robb. Brandon’s face was difficult to read at this distance, but Ned could see two things plainly enough. His brother was worried about something, but he was genuinely pleased by Ned’s presence. Brandon leapt off his horse as soon as a man came up to take the reins from him and all but sprinted over to where Ned stood.

“My gods! Ned!” He grabbed him tightly and clapped him hard upon the back. “This is unexpected, but most welcome, brother!” he said, standing back with his hands on Ned’s arms and looking at him intently. “I’ve missed you, Ned. And thank the gods you’re here now because . . .”

“Father! Father!”

Young Robb could no longer contain his enthusiasm or his desire for his father’s attention, and he grabbed up at Brandon’s arm, interrupting whatever he was about to say to Ned. Brandon looked irritated for only a moment before taking a deep breath, and Ned was struck by the fact that his brother appeared more than simply worried. His face had worn an almost hunted expression as he’d spoken.

He conjured up a smile for his son, however, sweeping Robb up off the ground. “You’ve grown again, young Robb!” he exclaimed with rather forced merriment to Ned’s ears. “I’ve warned you not to do that every time I go away.”

“Well, mayhap you shouldn’t go away so often then,” Robb replied cheekily, and Ned didn’t think he imagined the fleeting expression of guilt on his brother’s face.

“I’m home now,” Brandon said simply, putting his son down. He bent then to pick up Sansa who still held Catelyn’s hand without so much as acknowledging his wife yet. “And you have grown, too, Sansa.”

“Thank you, Father,” the little girl said sweetly, and Ned wondered if his niece ever responded to anything as if it were anything other than the kindest compliment in the world.

Brandon kissed the top of her auburn head rather absently and set her down before turning finally to face Catelyn. “You look well, my lady,” he said, scarcely meeting her eyes. “And Arya grows as well as her brother and sister.” 

“Papa!” Arya squealed, and Ned’s heart fell to hear it, recalling how she’d called out the same word at him in the nursery. 

Brandon smiled just a bit and ran a hand over her fine, dark brown hair.

“It is good to have you home, my lord,” Catelyn said rather formally but not coldly. “The children are all well, including the newest. Her eyes dipped to the curve of her belly, and Ned saw something inexplicably like guilt and fear in his brother’s eyes as he followed her gaze.

“It is good to be home and find you all so well,” Brandon said firmly. “And even better to discover that my long absent brother has returned to us,” he added. “Why did you not send a raven, Cat? I would have cut short my visit had I known Ned was here!”

Ned wondered if Brandon even saw the way Catelyn flinched at his public announcement that he would more quickly remove himself from his mistress’s bed for his visiting brother than for the wife who carried his child. Ned saw it, and he wanted very much to hit his brother for it.

“I only arrived yesterday, Brandon,” he said quickly, trying not to grit his teeth as he spoke.

“Ah! My timing is good then. Come up to the solar with me Ned, and we’ll . . .” He hesitated. “Damnation!” he swore. “I almost forgot. My horse’s hoof has a split in it I need Hullen to look at right away. I can’t have my favorite mount coming up lame when I may have to . . .Go on up to the solar, Ned, and I’ll be along shortly.”

Before Ned could even respond, Brandon had turned away and headed for the stables at a jog.

“He didn’t even say hello to me,” Jon said, looking up at Ned in some bewilderment.

Ned looked down to see that Robb was staring off after his father in some disappointment as well.

“Your father knows well enough the value of a good horse, Robb,” Catelyn said firmly. “He won’t risk it being harmed because one of the stablehands is unaware of an injury. You will see him at dinner, and he will assuredly wish to hear all the tales you and Jon have for him. Now, run along, you two, and see if you can manage to enjoy yourselves and keep out of mischief.”

With only a moment’s hesitation, the two boys scampered off, and Catelyn turned to Ned. “There’s something wrong, Ned. I don’t know what . . .”

“There most certainly is something wrong when my brother shows more concern for a damned horse than for the mother of his children,” Ned interrupted angrily.

“Don’t,” she whispered hoarsely. “Please.”

Ned wanted to bite his tongue off then, realizing that there were still plenty of people within earshot of his remark and that it only served to make her feel more shamed. “Forgive me, my lady,” he said softly. “It is only that I . . .”

“I know,” she told him softly. “I know.” She looked around to see that those around them had begun to move off, and then she said in a sad voice almost too soft to hear, “I do not imagine myself worthy of better treatment, Ned. I know my own sins better than my husband does.”

“Cat . . .don’t say that,” Ned said, finding it nearly impossible to speak around the lump he now found in his throat.

She was looking toward the stables now and shaking her head slowly. “Something has happened, though. Brandon is never so dismissive of the children when he returns. He’s troubled. Go and speak with him, Ned, for the gods know he will not share his troubles with me. I’ll have some food sent up for he will undoubtedly be hungry long before meal time.”

Before he could respond, she had turned to go in the direction of the kitchens. He stood watching her a moment as she stopped when she reached the place where the septa waited and relinquished both girls into her care. Realizing that he needed to be far more mindful of staring after his brother’s wife, Ned turned toward the Great Keep to go and wait upon Brandon.

He hadn’t been there too terribly long when Brandon came in, shutting the door behind him. Ned raised his brow as he watched his brother slide the bolt into place as well.

“Cat had food sent up if your hungry,” he said, motioning to the table against the wall. 

Brandon walked toward the table and wordlessly filled a cup with wine. He drained it where he stood and filled it once more before turning to look at Ned with a bleak expression. “I’m in a hell of a mess, Ned,” he said, walking to sit down in his chair behind the desk.

“What’s happened, Brandon?” Ned asked, now feeling a growing sense of dread himself.

“Barbrey’s with child,” he said simply. 

“Gods be good,” Ned swore. “Brandon, how could you . . .”

“I know, damn it! Do you think I don’t know?” He slammed his fist on the desk and stood up again. “She’s missed her moonblood before, and she’s always taken moon tea. She knew better, damn the woman! I’ve told her! I’ve told her we cannot allow any bastards to come of this!” He paced back and forth like a caged animal. “She’s a daughter of House Ryswell, widow to Lord Dustin, and sitting Lady of Barrowton for the gods’ sake. She can’t be whelping bastards like some brothel whore!”

“You’d lay the responsibility all at her feet, brother?” Ned asked quietly.

“She lied to me, Ned!” Brandon shouted, whirling about to face him. “She kept it from me.”

“And she won’t take moon tea this time?” Ned asked, not wanting to know how often his brother had asked it of her in the past.

“She can’t,” Brandon said dejectedly. “She’s nearly six moons gone. It would be much too dangerous.”

“Six moons!” Ned choked. “But Catelyn is . . .my gods, Brandon, have you taken to having them at the same time now?”

“Don’t you speak to me of my wife!” Brandon responded angrily again. “Catelyn is my wife, and I have always done my duty by her. I have never shamed her in this castle, Ned, and you know it. I never meant for this to happen!”

“But Barbrey did?” Ned asked him incredulously. “Surely she knows what this means for her.”

Brandon suddenly seemed to sag. He put his face in his hands a moment and then came to sit down once more, lifting the cup of wine to his lips again before replying. “She tells me she knows better than I do,” he said softly. “She tells me that since the day I bedded her when we returned Willam’s horse to Barrow Hall, the Dustin men have called her Lady Dustin to her face and Lord Stark’s Whore behind her back. She has no husband and will have none for there is no one who does not know how I come to her bed. She has no child and even if she did, it would have no inheritance, for it would have no Dustin blood. She rules in Barrow Hall only by my allowance until a proper heir for House Dustin is determined. When I have taken my pleasure with her, I have taken everything she has.”

Brandon looked down at his wine cup for a long moment. “She cried,” he said, still looking down. “The first time I gave her the moon tea, she cried. Catelyn had borne me only Robb then, and I think Barbrey believed I would yet put her aside somehow.” He met Ned’s eyes then. “I never lied to her. I told her that Catelyn was and would remain my lady wife. I told her then that no child could ever come of our bedding. And for years now, I thought she had accepted that. Then she did this.”

Brandon shook his head, and Ned bit his teeth to keep from reminding his brother that the woman had not gotten herself with child all on her own.

“I was last there just over three moons ago!” Brandon exclaimed. “I even teased her about eating too many sweets--told her she was getting fat, and she said nothing. When I arrived this time, I could see plainly enough what she’d hidden from me.”

“She thinks you will put Catelyn aside now?” Ned asked in disbelief.

“No,” Brandon sighed. “She simply decided that if she could make peace with being my whore, she could make peace just as well with being my the mother of my bastard. And she wanted my child. She says she loves me, Ned.”

They sat there in silence for a long time. Finally, Ned asked, “What do you intend to do?”

“What can I do?” Brandon asked. “I’ll acknowledge the child, of course. I owe her that. I’ll see it fostered to a good house if it’s a boy and I’ll make sure he gets a keep of his own when he’s a man. I can’t make him the heir to Barrow Hall, as much as Barbrey would like that. Too many people would take insult from it, and I won’t be accused of using my cock to grab up the lands of my bannermen.” He sighed. “It will be easier if it’s a girl. I can find a lesser son of some lesser branch of a noble house willing enough to wed a high lord’s bastard daughter, especially if I provide her a dowry.”

“And Catelyn?”

“What about Catelyn? This has nothing to do with her or our children.”

Ned raised his brow. “You don’t think she’ll see an acknowledged bastard as an insult? She has her pride, Brandon. And any keep or dowry you give to Barbrey Dustin’s child is one you will not give to yours and Cat’s.” _Or mine and Cat’s._ The thought came unbidden to his mind, and he endeavored to push it away.

“It doesn’t matter. My mind is made up here, Ned. Catelyn is my wife, and she shall abide by what I say. She knows her duty well enough. She’s a good woman.”

“Better than you deserve,” Ned muttered.

“Hold your tongue, little brother!” Brandon said angrily. “Do you think you would do better? Would you be a better lord of my castle or better husband to my wife?” 

Brandon’s grey eyes bored into his, and Ned prayed fervently that none of his inner turmoil showed on his own face. Brandon laughed harshly then. “Always so honorable. The good, good Eddard Stark who always does the right thing by everyone. Sit in my chair before you judge me, Ned. There’s a mighty wide gap between the Lord of Winterfell, Warden of the North, and Rickard Stark’s second son. Are you wed to anyone? No. Have you been forced to settle anywhere? No. You’ve taken on Jon, I’ll grant you that, but even him you’ve left to my wife’s care while you ride around on Robert’s business. You’re responsible for none but yourself, Ned, and I cannot fathom how that feels. I’ve known where I would live and what role I would play since I was old enough to speak. I’ve known whom I would wed since I was fifteen even though I didn’t so much as lay eyes on her for a full year after that when she was all of three and ten, more girl than maiden. I’ve never done other than what my birthright demanded of me, Ned, and you have no right to judge me.”

 _The gods know I have no right to judge anyone,_ Ned thought miserably. Still, his heart broke for the pain this would cause Catelyn. He could barely stand to think of his brother desiring Cat and taking her body as was his right as a husband without feeling a white hot jealousy. Yet, the thought of his brother shaming and disregarding Cat by taking other women made him want to throttle Brandon out of violent anger over the slight to Catelyn’s honor. _Gods damn me. I have no more honor than you, Brandon._

“You do have to tell her, Brandon,” he said quietly. “She deserves to hear the truth from you rather than some gossiping maid.”

Brandon swallowed. “She likes you, Ned. She respects you. I thought perhaps you might . . .”

“No,” Ned said quietly, but firmly. “There is much I will do for you, but not this. Catelyn is your wife, and you have done this. You will have to tell her.”

Brandon nodded silently.

“Would you have wed Barbrey?” Ned asked him as he stood to go. “I know you had her long before we came back from the war. Long before you ever wed Catelyn. Had you been the second son, would you have chosen her?”

“I don’t know,” Brandon said. “I . . .care about Barbrey. Gods know I enjoy bedding her. The girl’s been like strong drink to me ever since I took her maidenhead. I crave her. Even as big with child as she is now, I found myself wanting her. But I do care about my wife and my children, too, Ned, whether you believe that or not. And I cannot imagine not having any of them because I never did have a choice.”

 _You did,_ Ned thought, as he left the solar. _You could have walked away from Barbrey._ Painfully, he tried to tear from his mind the memory of the feel of Cat’s flesh beneath his hands, the warmth of her sex around his cock, the spill of her bright hair around her face and the look of that beautiful face as she came undone for him. _I crave her,_ Brandon had said. _Gods, I am no better. I crave Catelyn more than air, and I left her with child as well. I tell myself I am better because I walked away, but I didn’t walk away quickly enough._

Once again, Eddard Stark felt himself unable to breathe, and he all but fled the Great Keep for the godswood, where he remained until Jon came to find him hours later, worried because he had missed the evening meal. Guiltily, Ned went with the boy he had made his son, promising himself to be a better father to him, and cursing himself that he could do nothing at all for any of the other people he loved.

It took Brandon three long days to find the courage to speak to Catelyn of the babe Barbrey Dustin carried, and during those days, Ned was careful to never be alone with her. She knew he was avoiding her, of course, and undoubtedly knew it had to do with whatever Brandon had told him. But he was determined that Brandon be the one to speak to his wife about his bastard, and he knew he would be unable to lie to her if she asked him what Brandon had told him. So, he passed the days making good on his promise to spend time with Jon, sometimes alone and sometimes with Robb along as well. He also managed to see Arya on occasion, but never without Sansa there as well, and never with Catelyn.

Brandon finally came to him just after midday on that third day and said, “I am going hunting. Do you want to come?”

“Hunting?” Ned asked him, somewhat dumbfounded.

“I told Catelyn everything,” Brandon said gruffly. “She has no desire to look upon my face at present, and I shall not force her to do so. My spending a couple nights in the Wolfswood will give her a chance reconcile herself to what has been done and what must be done.”

_I cannot simply leave her here alone._

“I will stay,” Ned said quietly. “Jon has not seen me in nigh on two years, and I know not how long I can stay. I would spend this time with him.”

Brandon nodded. “I’d be glad if you’d look after all the children for me. And Catelyn, as well.” He swallowed. “My lady wife is proud, Ned. But I do think she is more hurt than she’ll let me see. And I am sorry for it.”

Uncomfortably aware that he was the last man in the Seven Kingdom his brother should ask to look after his wife, Ned nevertheless went to find her as soon as Brandon had gone. Unsurprisingly, she was in her rooms. A maid answered the door when Ned knocked upon it.

“Might I come in and speak with Lady Stark?” he asked.

The maid turned away and walked into the little sitting room off to the side of Catelyn’s bedchamber. While he waited, Ned studiously avoided looking at her bed and attempted to think upon anything other than the last time he was in this room. 

“She said for you to come in, milord.”

Ned looked up, startled to see that the maid had returned. He still didn’t see Catelyn and assumed he was to walk into the sitting room to find her there. The maid went into the corridor and closed the door behind her as he walked into the smaller room to find his brother’s wife on her knees before one of her little statues. She kept statues of her seven gods in the windows of this little room. He’d forgotten that. Looking closely, he saw that she knelt before the image of the Mother. _She should have a sept,_ he thought. _She is the Lady of Winterfell. Her gods deserve a proper home here._

“I take it you know what he told me.” She spoke without rising or turning around.

“I am sorry, my lady. I didn’t think it my place to speak . . .”

“Don’t you dare ‘my lady’ me now, Ned. No one is here but us and the Seven, and the gods are already well aware of my sins.”

“Cat . . .”

She did turn around then, staring up at him with blue eyes reddened from crying but also blazing with fury. “I hate him for doing this,” she hissed. “I hate him for shaming me and allowing that woman to have a child who will forever dog my children’s steps . . .”

“Cat, you know he won’t . . .”

“He will claim it, Ned! He told me he will. And whatever he intends, I know Barbrey Dustin will take everything she can get for her child. She will not sit quietly in Barrow Hall and keep her bastard out of sight.”

“You are the Lady of Winterfell. Robb is Brandon’s heir. Nothing can change that.”

“He’ll keep on fucking her, you know,” Catelyn said bitterly, turning back toward the statue. “Once she recovers from birthing her bastard, she’ll have him right back in her bed.”

“Catelyn,” Ned walked behind her then and put his hands on her shoulders as she knelt. She reached up with one of her hands to grip one of his tightly.

“It’s true,” she said softly. “He hasn’t the strength to walk away from a woman he wants. He never has.” With her free hand, she then pushed herself up, and Ned helped her to rise. “He isn’t you,” she said when she stood facing him.

He wanted to kiss her so badly. He wanted to kiss the hurt and the anger out of those blue eyes. “I don’t know what to do, Cat,” he whispered softly. 

She laughed bitterly, and the sound of it caused him pain. “Why not tell me what a hypocrite I am? That’s what I’ve been doing, here on my knees. Berating myself and begging the gods not to punish my children for my hatred of this woman and her bastard--for my inability to forgive my husband the very same sins I’ve committed.”

“Cat, you haven’t . . .”

“Don’t tell me I haven’t sinned, Ned! You know I have. I’ve a bastard of my own and I’ve passed her off as Brandon’s child. At least your brother will admit his is a bastard!”

She was crying now, and Ned grabbed her by the arms. “You have no choice,” he told her. “You know that. Brandon claims he has no choice, but you have even less. He’d put her out, Cat. I could claim her, yes, but she’d have no kind of life, and you’d have less of one.” Catelyn was shaking her head, crying harder. “Listen to me,” he begged her. “Brandon is not a cruel man, but he’s got more pride than he needs and far more temper. You know this. He’ll never give you up, but if he ever knew we’d betrayed him, he’d disown me, and he’d make you a virtual prisoner here, thinking himself within his rights to have you pay for your sin.”

“Maybe he would be,” she said softly.

“No. He wouldn’t. Whatever wrongs you and I have done, Cat, we have tried to make them right. I left you so that we wouldn’t do any more wrong. And Arya . . .Arya is blameless. We owe her our protection more than we owe Brandon any sort of penance. He will never do any penance for the sins he’s committed against you. Whether he feels badly about them or not. You know that’s true.”

She was still shaking her head, and he began to feel panicked. She couldn’t tell Brandon about Arya. She couldn’t. Whether it was fair or right made no difference. The rules were different when it was the wife who strayed from a marital bed, and he couldn’t protect Cat or Arya if Brandon or anyone else ever discovered the truth.

“You can never tell him, Cat! Nothing good can come of that.”

She laughed again, and it had an almost hysterical edge to it. “I know that,” she said. “I am not a fool, Eddard Stark. But I am afraid. I am afraid of the gods because I am not sorry.”

He looked at her, not understanding what she meant.

“Don’t you see?” she said sadly. “I’ve tried so hard to be remorseful. To be truly penitent for my sins. Whatever Brandon has done or not done, he never deserved to be cuckolded. But I’m not sorry for what we did, Ned. And I never will be.”

He began to understand her, and he took his hands from her arms and backed away slightly. “We can’t think of that.”

“I think of nothing else,” she said. “I look at your daughter’s face and I thank the gods that she is yours even as I beg them not to allow anyone to discover it. I lie alone in my bed and I dream of your face and your hands upon me rather than my husband’s.”

“Cat . . .”

“I stand here now, furious with my husband for shaming me and yet I want nothing more than for you to rip this gown from me and bed me even while his child grows inside me! Don’t tell me I am less sinful than Brandon or more entitled to my anger. Don’t lie to me Ned, for I will not lie to myself.”

She stood there simply staring at him for a moment as if challenging him to contradict her. Then she seemed to crumble, nearly falling into his arms where she sobbed against his chest, and he simply held her tight, pressing kisses to the top of her head and whispering the most unhelpful words in the world, but the only ones he had at the moment. “I love you.”

Gradually her sobs slowed, and she stilled in his arms. She raised her face to touch her lips to his in a kiss that was so soft and brief as to be almost chaste, although neither of them was under any illusion that any touches between them could ever be truly chaste. Then she pulled herself from his arms. 

“My maid knows I have been crying here, and she knows what Brandon told me. Likely she and all the other servants had word of the events at Barrow Hall before I did.”

Ned nodded, knowing this to be true, but uncertain why she spoke of it now. His mind was still reeling from her previous words and the feel of her in his arms and the scent of her hair in his face.

“I told her Brandon sent you to me. I told her that whatever else my lord husband may have done, he would never leave me friendless, and that there is no one who is a dearer friend to both of us than you.” She smiled at him sadly. “We’re alone in my bedchambers, Ned, and my maid knows that. I would have it clear that you come here with my husband’s blessing. I needed to speak with you privately, but I need us to remain above suspicion.”

“Of course,” he said, marveling that once her storm of grief and rage and guilt had passed, she could so calmly state what course of action they must pursue.

“What I said before . . .the things I want . . .we can never . . .” She shook her head and moved even further away from him.

“I know that, Cat,” he said. 

“I think that’s why I’m so angry with Brandon,” she said softly. “Because he won’t ever give her up. And I won’t ever have you again.”

Ned didn’t have any response to that. Every word of it was true.

“I will be all right, Ned. And I will keep my children safe. _All_ of my children. But I do need to ask something of you. Something I have no right to ask, but I am going to anyway.”

“You have the right to ask anything you wish of me. Always.”

She smiled at him. “I want you to stay until this babe is born.”

“That’s nearly another four moons, Cat,” he started to protest. “Robert . . .”

“I don’t care about Robert. I care about you, and if being here, being near me while I bear Brandon’s child is too painful for you, then go. I’ve caused you enough pain already.”

“None of my pain is any fault of yours.”

She didn’t bother to contradict him. They both knew they brought each other little other than pain, although he didn’t believe her to be in any way at fault for that. Neither of them had chosen to love each other.

“If you can bear to remain that long, I would be glad of your presence. Brandon tells me that Barbrey is terrified of childbirth, having not done it before. She asked him to return to Barrow Hall when her time is near, and he has promised to do so.”

“What?” Ned couldn’t believe his brother would actually go this far. “She’s only a few weeks further along than you are. He can’t possibly go to . . .”

“He can, and he intends to do so. He wasn’t present for Robb’s or Arya’s births and has every confidence in my ability to come through it without him.” She sighed. “But Ned, the birthing bed is never an entirely safe prospect for a woman. I know that well. Should something happen to me . . .”

“Don’t even speak so,” he said sharply, his heart twisting painfully in his chest at the thought of any harm coming to her.

“I must. If something were to happen, and Brandon is not here, I would not have my children without any family. Benjen is at the Wall, Ned. I am asking you to be the Stark in Winterfell any time Brandon is gone until I bring this next child safely into the world.” Her eyes filled with tears, but she held up a hand to stop him when he moved toward her. “Please don’t touch me now. I can only be so strong when it comes to that. But over the next few moons, I fear I cannot be as strong as I will need to be on my own, and so I’m asking you if you can lend me your strength through your presence.”

“All that I have is yours, Cat. My strength, my honor. Whatever my presence can give to you, you shall have it.”

Robert’s reply to Ned’s raven that he was extending his visit to Winterfell was less than enthusiastic, but he didn’t demand Ned’s immediate return to King’s Landing. Some days were more difficult than others as the weeks wore on, but Ned, Catelyn, and Brandon all managed to coexist in some semblance of normality, and Ned found himself falling easily back into old routines of assisting Brandon in his duties. The only actual arguments Ned had with Brandon centered around his attempts to get his brother to give up his foolish notion of riding for Barrow Hall a mere four weeks before Catelyn’s child was due. Ravens from Barbrey Dustin arrived at least weekly, however, and nothing would dissuade Brandon from his plan to go.

Jon was a joy and a comfort to him. Lyanna’s boy was such an odd mixture of his sister and himself in personality that it made Ned laugh. He saw nothing at all of Rhaegar Targaryen in the child, and for that he was truly grateful. His nephew Robb was a delightful boy as well, smart and energetic--with Brandon’s reckless courage but Catelyn’s kind heart. He knew the boy felt the tension between his parents even if he was too young to understand it. To his credit, Brandon still spent a fair amount of time with his son, certainly more than he did his daughters, but Ned was also careful to include the boy in most of his plans with Jon in an attempt to help alleviate any unhappiness he felt.

Watching Arya grow and change almost daily was like a miracle to him. She had Catelyn’s stubbornness and her laugh, and at just shy of one and a half, developed her mother’s habit of chewing on her lip when she concentrated very hard on something. Yet, her hair and face were entirely his own, and Ned was grateful that Brandon’s appearance was similar enough to his that this wouldn’t cause comment. He also thanked the gods every time an older member of the household remarked upon the child’s resemblance to Lyanna. He continued his habit of spending time with the two girls together lest anyone suspect him of taking a special interest in Arya, and sweet Sansa charmed him as easily as her mother did, finding her way into his heart as surely as his own daughter.

Spending days with Catelyn was both his greatest joy and most difficult trial. Seeing her smile, hearing her voice, watching the hair fall over her shoulders as she bent to play with the children--these things were small treasures he stored up for long empty years ahead. They spoke easily about the children’s antics and the daily minutiae of life in Winterfell, and tried to keep their conversations to such things. Occasionally, they would find themselves alone, and they would speak of other things--hopes, fears, and feelings too painful to give word to very often, but simply too powerful to keep forever inside when they were so close to each other.

They absolutely did not touch any more than necessary for courtesy’s sake, and even the pressure of her hand on his arm when he’d escort her through the courtyard or down a corridor or the touch of his hand on the small of her back when he assisted her into and out of chairs as her ever increasing girth made such maneuvers more difficult for her would send a jolt of heat throughout his entire body. He had long ago reconciled himself to the fact that he could not help but spend some nights imagining his brother’s wife as he took his painfully stiff cock in hand and palmed himself to his release, but with her so close to him every day, he found himself needing to take such measures with a frequency that caused him no small amount of guilt and shame.

Yet, even with all of that, he found himself wishing the days might go by more slowly so that he could remain at Winterfell with Catelyn and the children even longer.

Then the raven arrived from Barrow Hall that put Catelyn into such a rage that Ned feared neither Brandon nor he would ever get her to calm down. 

“Rickard?” she shrieked, waving the parchment in Brandon’s face. “Your little harlot intends to name her child Rickard? I suppose it’s Lyarra if it’s a girl?!?”

“Cat,” Brandon said, in a remarkably calm and reasonable tone of voice. “Her brother’s name is Rickard. And she wants Bethany for a girl--for her sister--if you’d only read a bit further.”

Ned couldn’t understand for the life of him why Brandon had given her the letter to read at all. It had arrived that morning, imploring Brandon to come soon because Barbrey was certain that little Rickard was going to come any day and just as certain that she was going to die. Brandon intended to ride out on the morrow and had shown Catelyn the letter thinking that the woman’s fears of childbirth would soften her on the idea of his going. Of course, Catelyn hadn’t even gotten to that section of the letter as she’d screamed with rage the minute she’d read that Barbrey already referred to the unborn bastard by his and Brandon’s lord father’s name.

“I don’t care how many brothers named Rickard the woman has, Brandon,” Catelyn insisted. “You cannot name your bastard after your lord father. What if our child is a son, my lord? What shall I call him? Rickard as well? Or perhaps I’ll call him Rodrik--after your mistress’s father. Or Willam, to remind you of your lover’s late husband.”

“Cat . . .don’t do this,” Brandon said tiredly.

“Don’t do what? Name our son? You are leaving on the morrow, my lord. You may or may not be here when this child arrives. I’ll name him . . .or her . . .on my own if you like, but as you seem quite taken with the idea of calling your bastard after your lord father, I thought you might like to suggest a name of your own choosing before you ride away.”

Ned actually grabbed Brandon’s arm as he saw him open his mouth to protest once more that Barbrey had chosen the name to honor her brother. None of them actually believed that nonsense, of course, and repeating it to Cat while such violent sparks were flashing through those blue eyes was not an intelligent move. As Ned tried desperately to think of something helpful to say, Brandon surprised him.

“If it is a boy, call him after me,” he said suddenly.

“What?” Catelyn asked, stunned into a single word response.

Brandon walked to her then and took her hand. “Call him Brandon, my lady. It is a Stark name--a far more storied Stark name than Rickard, going back to Brandon the Builder. The gods know it has belonged to far greater men than the lord who currently bears it. I know I have wronged you, Catelyn, and I shall wrong you again when I ride out on the morrow. And yet I will go.” He stopped then and simply looked at her as Ned looked at both of them, feeling as if he didn’t belong there. “I cannot do otherwise,” his brother said then. “But whatever else I am, for good or for ill, I am the Lord of Winterfell and your husband, and the child you carry is my trueborn son or daughter. Our firstborn son and my heir is named for a king. Let our next son carry the proud name of Brandon Stark, and we’ll pray to the gods he does it more honor than I do.”

With that, Brandon lifted Catelyn’s hand to his lips, kissed it formally, and walked from the solar, leaving Catelyn and Ned staring after him.

After a moment, she looked at him, and Ned saw tears where fury had been a moment before. “Do you think . . . if I had ever loved him the way I love you . . .?”

He shook his head sadly. “He still would have been who he is, Cat.”

“I don’t truly hate him, you know. I just . . .”

“I know.” He did know. Ned had never stopped loving his brother or believing him to be basically a good man, and while Catelyn may never have truly loved Brandon, he knew she cared about him. Their feelings toward him were simply forever colored by what they felt for each other. And while Brandon had his own sins to answer for, he was not to blame for the love that should never have come to be between his wife and his brother. “It’s a good name,” he told her. “Brandon Stark.”

“It is,” she replied softly, and then she, too, walked from the solar, leaving Ned alone with his thoughts.

A fortnight later, the raven arrived from Barrow Hall. Barbrey Dustin, it seemed, had been prophetic. She had delivered a healthy son whom she promptly named Rickard, and then she had hemorrhaged and died within hours. Catelyn had taken the news hard, and Ned knew how guilty she felt about her own hatred of the woman. He feared she felt she deserved no better fate for having birthed Arya. When she went into labor not forty-eight hours later, more than a fortnight before she was due, he was terrified.

Ned had lived at Winterfell when Sansa was born. He’d sat in the solar drinking with Brandon while they awaited the child’s arrival. Catelyn had gone to the birthing bed that morning and by midafternoon, his brother was presented with his daughter. They’d heard Cat cry out, but not often, and the entire experience had been one of joy, if somewhat drunken joy on the part of his brother.

This was entirely different, and Ned found himself considering an escape into drunkenness as Cat’s labor went beyond twenty-four hours with almost no word from the maester. He haunted the hallway outside her room, and her ever more agonizing screams of pain cut through him like swords. Finally, he could take it no longer, and he beat upon the door until a girl came and opened it.

“I would speak to Maester Luwin,” he demanded. 

“The maester’s busy, milord,” she said. “Lady Catelyn isn’t doing well. He has to . . .”

At the words ‘Lady Catelyn isn’t doing well,’ Ned pushed the girl aside and strode into the room. 

The sight that met him nearly made him faint. Catelyn lay on her bed, her normally pale face gone the color of snow. Her red hair was drenched and lay upon the pillow behind her. She was naked, and two maids held her legs, each of them holding one leg bent at the knee and pushing it back toward her belly. Her belly itself looked far more enormous without her clothing and the sheets between her legs were stained with blood.

“What is wrong?” Ned demanded.

“Lord Eddard. You should not be here,” Maester Luwin admonished from his place between Catelyn’s legs. He had his hands somewhere up between her thighs and as he moved, she suddenly screamed out in pain.

“Stop it! You’re hurting her!”

“Lord Eddard, you must go,” the maester insisted. Then he said, “You must hold her more tightly.”

“We can’t. She’s too strong, even yet, poor thing,” one of the maids said.

Ned looked at Catelyn who, after screaming and kicking her legs had collapsed back onto the bed, looking more dead than alive.

“What are you doing to her?” he demanded again.

In exasperation, the maester turned around to face him. “The babe is turned incorrectly and cannot be born. If I can turn it within her womb, I may be able to save it and Lady Stark. If I cannot, they will both likely die.”

Ned felt his heart fall to his feet. “Do it, then,” he ordered.

Maester Luwin shook his head. “It is very painful. And it can be dangerous. I need her to be still, and she cannot be. I had hoped as exhausted as she is . . .”

Ned looked at the face of the woman he loved, the woman who lay dying as she tried to bring his brother’s child into the world. “Tell me what to do,” he said.

“What?”

“These girls are not strong enough. Tell me how to hold her.”

One of the maids looked at him as if he’d lost his mind to make such a suggestion, but the maester was thankfully a more pragmatic man. He hesitated only seconds before saying. “Come sit on the bed behind her, Lord Eddard. Hold her with her back braced against your body and wrap your arms around her arms and belly. Do not allow her to raise her hips up off the bed. If you can do that, perhaps the girls can hold her legs still enough.”

Ned nodded and moved himself behind Catelyn. She looked up at him as he did so, and he realized for the first time that she knew he was there. She simply didn’t have the strength to speak. “You will be fine, Cat. You and the baby will be fine.” He gripped her so tightly, he feared he was hurting her, but she leaned her head back onto his chest, closed her eyes, and nodded.

The maester admonished the two girls to use all their strength, and Ned closed his own eyes as the man reached his hand up inside Catelyn once more. She screamed, and Ned felt her trying to thrash against him, but he held her more tightly and attempted to block out the sound of her cries. It seemed an eternity before Maester Luwin finally said, “I think we’ve done it.”

Catelyn collapsed back against him like a rag doll once more, and he started to remove himself from behind her, but her hand reached out and gripped his arm with surprising strength. Ned watched in fascination as her belly seemed to tighten of its own accord, and she cried out again, although nothing like she had a moment ago.

“Push now, my lady,” Maester Luwin told her. “I know you are tired, but you must push.” 

Catelyn closed her eyes tightly and dug her fingers into Ned’s arms as she pushed downward with whatever strength she had left. This was repeated more times than Ned could keep track of over the next immeasurable spell of time, and then suddenly there was a babe--a still, pale babe with a soft dusting of bright auburn on its head.

“A boy,” Maester Luwin said, as he stuck his finger into the child’s mouth and then blew in its face. 

Just as Ned became sure the infant must be dead, it scrunched up its face and took a gasping breath. Then it began to cry, and he heard Catelyn cry out softly once more, this time in joy and relief.

“You did it, Cat,” he whispered. “You have a new son.”

“You did it,” she whispered. “Thank you, my love.”

Ned looked up in panic at her words. The maids were across the room washing the babe in warm water and wrapping it in cloth, but Maester Luwin at the foot of the bed looked up at them and had clearly heard her words.

“She’s . . .delirious,” Ned said. “Will she be all right now?”

“I think so,” the maester said. “She must rest, however.”

“I’ll go,” Ned said, and he once more attempted to rise from the bed.

“Don’t leave me.” She grabbed at his arm again, and Ned looked at the maester in alarm.

“Ava, Enid, bring the babe to Lady Catelyn, please,” Maester Luwin said, “and then go and let tell the septa there is a new Stark. She can share the news with the other children. I’m afraid I may have to manipulate the afterbirth as well and I’ll need Lord Eddard to keep her still once more if it pains her.”

The two maids nodded. When one of them brought the little boy to Catelyn, she didn’t even have the strength to hold him, so Ned wrapped his arms around her once more to support her arms beneath her babe as she held him at her breast. Then the maids and the girl who’d opened the door to Ned left as they’d been instructed.

“Tell me when I must hold her,” Ned said, gritting his teeth.

“Oh, there is no need, Lord Eddard.”

Ned looked at the maester. 

“I may have overstated things a bit,” the man said. “The afterbirth is coming quite easily, and there’s not much I could have done about it had it not.” He actually chuckled.

Ned frowned at him. “Do you need me or not?”

“She does,” Maester Luwin said softly. “She will be well, Lord Eddard, but she is weak and frightened still.” The little man looked at him pointedly. “And as you so correctly pointed out, she is a bit delirious. No need to have more people listen to her ramblings.”

“Brandon,” Catelyn said.

“He’ll be here soon, Cat,” Ned told her.

“No,” she said, looking at her son. “Brandon Stark.”

“Ah,” he said, looking at down at his nephew and thinking that Catelyn holding her newborn son was easily the most beautiful sight he had ever seen. “That’s right. Hello, young Brandon. You have a very good name, my little man. And I can already see you are a very fine Stark.”

Maester Luwin seemed to have finished doing whatever he was doing which Ned hadn’t wanted to look at too closely, and now he covered Catelyn with a blanket, although her naked back still rested against Ned. “He is to be Brandon after his father then?” the maester asked.

“Aye,” Ned answered. “My brother and Lady Stark discussed it before he left. Brandon is the name of many great Starks through history, and he wanted it for his trueborn son.”

The maester nodded. “A very good choice.”

The babe seemed to be distressed about something and moved his head back and forth against Catelyn’s skin. She seemed too weak to do anything about, though, and the maester frowned slightly.

“Forgive me, Lady Catelyn, but if I may?”

“Please,” Catelyn whispered.

The maester reached up to place the babe’s mouth at one of Catelyn’s nipples, and Ned had the absurd urge to scold the man for impropriety which was certainly a ridiculous notion considering that he was holding his brother’s naked wife in her bed. He remained silent and watched in fascination as little Brandon latched onto the nipple and began to suckle. 

Catelyn made a contented sound and lay her head back on his chest. “I love you,” she murmured sleepily.

Maester Luwin gave no indication that he heard her, simply returning to the foot of the bed to do whatever he was doing with the rags there.

Holding the woman he loved as she nursed her son, Ned Stark found himself wondering helplessly precisely how he would find the strength to let her go, to let all of them go, once again.


End file.
